


All The World’s A Stage Two Rocket Booster

by Byrcca



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Episode: s06e22 Muse, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 06:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14014422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byrcca/pseuds/Byrcca
Summary: Set immediately after Muse. Tom Paris’ purgatory take two.





	All The World’s A Stage Two Rocket Booster

“Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.”

– Oscar Wilde

 

~~~

He’d been out of his mind with worry. Ready to steal a shuttle and go find them himself. Ready to believe that they’d given in to unvoiced passion and run away together if it meant they were alive and well and happy.

And then, finally, suddenly, they were safe. Harry had contacted Voyager requesting a beam out, like it was a regular away mission. Like it was an ordinary day. Like they hadn’t been missing for the last two weeks. Tom had run to sickbay, leaving his place at the conn empty. He _thought_ Chakotay had filled it. It may have been Ayala. He didn’t care. He was focused on getting to her as soon as humanly— _snort_ —possible. 

But she hadn’t come. Harry had beamed into sickbay, scruffy, stinking of sweat and filth, saying B’Elanna would be along. That she was busy. Had something to do first, before she came home. Before she came back to him. 

It was inconceivable. 

He’d swallowed his frustration as he quizzed Harry, trying gamely to keep his mind on his duty, running the medical tricorder over his best friend, cataloguing the results: a vitamin deficiency, dehydration, exhaustion, a skin infection, the result of a couple of scrapes. Blisters on the heels of his feet. He prepared a hypo while Harry rambled about a spatial anomaly, a long trek through untamed wilderness, scrounging for food and water. Finally finding B’Elanna. The shuttle was a mess, as if that mattered. Where the fuck was she? What was taking her so long? His nerves were fraying, his tenuous grasp on his composure quickly eroding.

And then she was there, in front of him, whole and hearty and fucking beaming with excitement and suppressed joy. Her arms in the air, like she was granting a benediction on some poor, foolish, _lesser being_. Like a goddess in an ill-fitting, too large, home-spun cloak. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to know. He pulled her into a fierce hug, squeezing her too hard, trying to meld their bodies together, become one being, so she couldn’t leave him ever again. 

“I didn’t get that kind of welcome,” Harry observed, making a joke worthy of Tom himself, filling the silence.

And she laughed. Her voice welcoming and happy and tinged with surprise as she called his name. “ _Tom!_ ” As if he wouldn’t be there to greet her. As if he hadn’t been mourning her for the last two weeks. As if his presence were a surprise. He kissed her then, hard and punishing, and obviously claiming her as his. His anger simmered, just below his surface of civility. He reined it in. 

“Okay, I’m glad I didn’t get _that_ kind of welcome.” This from Harry, possibly picking up Tom’s mood. 

B’Elanna laughed, pushing him away. “I must stink,” she said. Her voice was music. She smelled of fresh air and smoke. And under it all was the essence that was her, B’Elanna. He wanted to weep. He wanted to sink to his knees and praise the higher beings for their mercy. 

“If you two are finished, I’d like an update on their conditions, Lieutenant.” The Doctor hovered, his expression neutral, like Tom had disappointed him too many times for this time to make an impact. He quickly scanned B’Elanna.

“They’re fine,” Tom said, remembering his role, acknowledging that he’d pushed the doc out of the way to get to his friends. His family. “I’ll log it, but they’re fine. Almost.”

“So,” the Doctor said, “they can be released to their quarters?” For once Tom was glad the doc had taken a back seat, let his pupil take the lead. 

“Yes.” Tom was still watching B’Elanna, smiling, not quite knowing why he was grinning like an idiot. He was angry, wasn’t he? He fumbled with the hypospray, giving her the same vitamin mix that he’d shot into Harry. Ran another scan, just to be sure. He looked at the doctor for confirmation. 

The Doc smiled at him and nodded. He was...gentle…it was the only word that applied. And Tom felt his eyes tear up. He couldn’t do this. He _wouldn’t_ do this. 

“They can go,” the Doctor said. “But maybe you should escort Lieutenant Torres, just in case.” Tom felt weak with relief. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lieutenant,” the Doctor added, his smile just short of a smirk. 

B’Elanna hopped off the biobed and sauntered toward the door, propelled by some inner daemon, high on some hidden knowledge that Tom had yet to cypher. He followed her, heedless of Harry, not caring if he made it home or ended up in astrometrics, subject to Seven’s tender mercies.

B’Elanna charged along the corridor, paced waiting for the turbolift, bounced on her toes as the ‘lift took them to her deck. She took his hand and pulled him behind her, practically dragging him to her quarters, all the while blathering on about some performance, some play, and someone named Kelis. 

They arrived at her quarters, and she seemed affronted that her door didn’t automatically open, that she had to key in her code. She strode into her domain, her inner sanctum, like the queen she was. And stopped. Looked around. Took in the mess. Dirty plates and cups. Remains of meals. His clothing tossed about. The bedclothes a shambles. 

“You slept here,” she said, her voice weak and small, her gaze focused on her bed. The surprise gutting her, stopping her litany of events of the past two weeks. She turned and took in the whole of it. “You lived here.” Like it was incomprehensible. Like she couldn’t imagine he would want to surround himself with her. Breathe her in, absorb her, through osmosis, if he could. 

And suddenly, as if it just occurred to her how long she’d been gone, how long she’d been out of contact, how much he’d missed her, worried about her, she turned to him chagrined, smiling, self-deprecating, opening her arms to enfold him in a hug. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m fine. I missed you so much.”

And he came to her, and crushed her to him, tears welling in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said, not knowing why he was apologizing, but feeling that he should. 

“No. No,” she said. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I missed you so much. I thought…” And he kissed her again, knowing that he couldn’t face her fears. His own had almost been his undoing. He didn’t know if the gods loved him or hated him, but she was back, she was his, and that was enough. 

~~

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure if there’s any point to this fic or not (aside from being a warning against excessive comma usage) but I had Harry’s line stuck in my head and needed to find it a home.


End file.
